


The “Elementary” Years (1919-1924)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [232]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Gay Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Radio, Scotland, Sex in the Impala, Sussex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock finds a Fair Isle where they do wonderful sweaters, and a certain lounge-lizard of a brother takes his orders far too literally, with fatal consequences. John is surprised by the love of his life – no, not that way! - and said love also dances away his worries over the rapid advance of technology.





	1. North By North-East

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm4ever81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm4ever81/gifts).



1919

Apart from my now acknowledged son Ben – Benjamin Watson as he was officially titled now - who thanks to a merciful Lord had recovered far better than many of his ilk, the ones I loved were fortunate indeed to survive the way years. And the horror that came almost immediately after; that summer had seen a particularly virulent global influenza, what would later become known as the Spanish Flu (unfairly so called because the war had led to a ban on reporting the effects everywhere except neutral Spain), hitting a weakened population at the worst possible time. Indeed we were incredibly lucky; James and Joanna both contracted the dreadful disease, and were amongst the precious few to recover. 

Johnnie himself had been ill at the end of last year, though mercifully not with the fatal virus, and in one of those ironic twists of Fate which life is apparently fond of throwing at people, that illness had brought in the woman who was to help him through the dark days ahead. A nurse called Miss Antonia Bevell (Toni to her friends) helped my poor nephew through all his travails, and I for one was not the least bit surprised when my nephew subsequently proposed to her, their marriage taking place on Valentine's Day. 

+~+~+

In our many adventures in Great Britain, Sherlock and I had visited every English and Welsh county, but not every Scottish one. Standing here on the windswept southern coast of Orkney's mainland, almost at the very top of Scotland, I wished that we had indeed had a case here. The place was stunningly beautiful.

To mark Sherlock's sixty-fifth birthday he had wanted to treat me to a trip north, further even than Caithness, scene of our adventure at Foulkes Rath. The war was over, but the country was still reeling from the events of some two weeks ago when the German fleet, which had been impounded in Scapa Flow (the large natural bay sheltered by several of the Orkney Islands) had been largely scuttled by its crews. That we had fought for four years against a nation with so little honour was not so much a shock, more a disappointment.

It seemed bizarre to see all that naval power rendered almost to naught, ship after ship either sunk down in the shallow waters or rolled completely over. I supposed that, with time, many of them would be recovered (and the German Empire would be footing the bill), but it just seemed a waste. Even if those ships had been of the enemy, they were still things of beauty that might have been put to better uses. I felt depressed at the fact that they were gone.

“We shall take the boat out to Fair Isle tomorrow”, Sherlock said. “They make the most marvellous sweaters, and I thought we could buy some and then celebrate my birthday.”

“In the middle of the North Sea?” I asked dubiously.

“With sex on the beach”, he said cheekily. And as I struggled for breath, he added, “wearing only our new sweaters!”

Not for the first or the last time, I was sure he was going to kill me through too much sex. Oh well. As I always said, it was a good way to go.


	2. Comings And Goings

1921

This year was marked by a birth and a death. My nephew Johnnie's wife Toni gave birth to their second son Henry (named for her father), who joined the two-year-old Dane (named for... someone). And there was also the death of a person whom Sherlock and I both knew. I cannot say that it was deeply mourned on my part.

“Poor Bacchus has been killed”, Sherlock said suddenly one morning.

“Oh dear”, I said, managing about as much sincerity as I could manage (i.e. none). “What happened?”

He looked pointedly at me, but continued.

“He was sent by the government to Athens to help out in their war against the Turks”, he said. “Unfortunately he interpreted the instruction to 'get into bed with the Greeks' rather too literally. A Macedonian army major found him in bed with his teenage daughter, and shot him on the spot.”

“How sad”, I said flatly, wondering if I could slip away to “The Majestic Duck” later that day and cele....

“No, John!”

Damnation!


	3. 490

1922

I paused as I passed the village pub, and wondered. It was the day of my seventieth birthday, yet apart from some pretty mind-blowing sex as my morning wake-up call, I had had no present as yet. Sherlock had told me that he was having something delivered, but it would not be here until later in the day. I silently cursed my increasingly slow limbs, and set off up the High Street.

England had welcomed the return of peace, whilst mourning the non-return of so many of its young men; our own little war memorial was by the pond just over the road, eight names on it who unlike me would never make old bones. Of course I was glad that there was peace, but something about the public's reaction in the years after the war made me uneasy. Imperial Germany had been scotched, not killed, and I feared that the increasing reluctance I felt amongst many of my fellow Englishmen to pay such a heavy price for what was right might encourage our old enemy to try again when it had recovered. At least our own country was moving forward; electoral reform had now extended the franchise to all men and most women over thirty years of age (the latter provision was because of the shortage of men caused by the war, and would as it turned out be dropped by the end of the decade).

One way in which my own life had changed in those immediate post-war years was when the garage had set up a second smaller establishment on the main road that passed by the village some way to the south, where they installed a petrol-pump to cope with the increase in road traffic. Casdene itself remained quiet, being on a little-used country lane with both the ford by Sherlock's cottages and a weak bridge further along its length to discourage through traffic, but there was a sign directing the highly unreliable early 'automobiles' to the main garage next to “The Majestic Duck”, where they could be repaired if (when) they broke down. Despite my initial wariness of these metal death-traps, I sometimes helped my son at the local garage, and found myself increasingly drawn to them, rather liking the idea of being able to drive up and down the steep hill on which our cottage lay, rather than having to haul my tired muscles along every time. Especially after Sherlock had been more thorough than usual.....

The villagers knew full well that when I smiled like that, they did _not_ ask!

I had promised to buy the light of my life half a pound of barley-sugar at the shops; how he kept his teeth so perfect with the amount of the stuff he got through each week, Heaven only knew! As I put my hand on the door to enter the little sweet-shop, I heard the sound of a car approaching from the distant main road. Probably another victim of modern technology who had thought he could trust his vehicle, I thought wryly, although it sounded as if it was not breaking down (yet). I shook myself and went inside the shop.

+~+~+

1924

I stared dubiously at the large varnished box before me.

“We can always return it if it does not suit”, Sherlock said, “if you would like something better to mark my seventieth birthday. Besides, I have a back-up present that is rather blue and very lacy!”

“Down, boy!” I grumbled. “Honestly, you think of nothing but sex!”

“Yes. Your point?”

I shook my head at him, and turned back to this 'wireless radio set'. Radios had been around for years, and I knew that they served good purpose on the seas in helping ships communicate with each other, especially since the loss of the “Titanic” had led to shipping companies being belatedly compelled to keep them turned on at all times. But a radio in the house to receive these 'radio programmes'? It seemed a little strange.

Sherlock twiddled with some of the dials, and a familiar sound came out of the box. My spirits lifted.

“That is Dixieland music”, I said. “Technology is so wonderful these days. Next thing, they will be making sets to go in automobiles.”

He pulled me into a slow dance, and began to undo my shirt. I grinned.

“I do love technology”, Sherlock said, “and now we have the music to go with my seduction.”

“So seduce me!” I grinned.

He did. And after what he did next, I would never again be able to listen to Dixieland music without smiling!

+~+~+

The Twenties continue, as we grow older with all the grace and decorum that one would have expected (i.e. none whatsoever).

I decided to buy a full pound of the stuff, knowing how quickly Sherlock got through it, and emerged into the unusually bright winter sunlight somewhat dazzled. It therefore took a couple of seconds to recognize the vehicle that was drawn up outside the shop, and probably rather too long to recognize the driver. 

“Sherlock?”

He grinned at me, and got elegantly out of the vehicle before walking round to me. I stared at the sleek blue-black automobile in awe.

“It is a Chevrolet 490, their latest model”, he smiled. 

I stared at him in shock.

“American?” I asked.

“Of course”, he said, as if it were obvious. “The one you ringed in that catalogue that you keep under the bed.”

I was sure that the manufacturers of this vehicle back in the United States could see my blush. But the thing was stunning! I had seen the company models from the past two years in a garage magazine and not been that impressed, but the 490 was in another league, and I had been quite tempted by the reduced price, despite the shipping costs. And now I had one.

Like an idiot, I only slowly realized that Sherlock was holding out the keys to me.

“Happy birthday, beloved!” he grinned. “I said that your present would be arriving later today, and this is the first part of it.”

“Only the first part?” I asked, awed. He nodded.

“I thought that we could drive to Oakdown Hill, and christen the back seat”, he grinned evilly. “That is the second part. If you are up to it, now you are a septuagenarian!”

I pouted and snatched the keys off of him, easing myself behind the wheel and breathing in the gorgeous smell of new leather and Sherlock. God, I was one lucky man at times!

+~+~+

The back seats were quite narrow, and it was fortunate that even at sixty-seven, Sherlock was as flexible as ever. We christened not only the back seats, but the front ones and, in a feat which left me needing a long lie down afterwards, both at the same time!


End file.
